


and we fade in the dark

by SemperAeternumQue



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Oralie Deserves Better, The Pyren Brothers AU, The Pyren Siblings AU, Vague Timeframe, being an empath is interesting when people get hurt, emery is nice sometimes actually, everyone is sad, everything is awful and no one is okay, give oralie a fucking hug 2k20, implied suicidal thoughts, livvy and team valiant are there for like 0.1 seconds, nonbinary Bronte, uhhh yeah idk what to tell u this is kinda just dark and gory and awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperAeternumQue/pseuds/SemperAeternumQue
Summary: Bronte dies and everything is awful.READ THE WARNINGS
Relationships: Councillor Bronte & Councillor Oralie (Keeper of the Lost Cities), Councillor Bronte & Fintan Pyren, Sophie Foster & Councillor Oralie (Keeper of the Lost Cities)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	and we fade in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hi fuckers welcome to a really sad fic. I take no responsibility for what happens if you decide to read this, that's on you.
> 
> Warnings: death, injury, graphic violence, blood, implied past suicidal thoughts.
> 
> Credit for the headcanons about how Oralie senses emotions goes to TheDarkChocolateLord on AO3. Also, some important and necessary context for this fic: Fintan and Bronte are siblings, they were adopted by two elves called Serenel and Ramil. A Keepsafe is a Councillor designated to protect their own safety no matter the cost so that there will always be at least one Councillor left alive to take charge in event of an emergency.

This was it, Oralie realized. This was the end. Whoever won the battle today would win the war- and it had to be them.

Grateful for her decision to wear more practical clothing today, she rushed through the flurry, hitting any black-cloaked figure that got in her way with her heels. Why oh why had she not taken Bronte up on their offer of proper weapons? Speaking of Bronte, where were they? Where were the rest of the Council? Over a few people’s heads, Oralie watched Clarette summon a few of her favored animal companions, reckoning the polygot would be fine on her own. Emery seemed to be doing okay as well, mostly because he and Darek had teamed up and were using telekinesis to their advantage, and Ramira was nowhere to be seen, as usual, so Oralie presumed she had fled. Ramira was by far more faithful to her job as a Keepsafe than the Darek. 

Too occupied in thoughts of the others’ safety, Oralie barely noticed the blond elf in front of her until she had almost run into him. 

“Why hello there, Oralie.”

That voice would haunt her dreams. “Fintan.”

“I see you and your lot aren’t doing so well.” He wore his trademark smirk, scanning the battlefield with that sharp gaze. 

“I think we’re doing quite fine,” Oralie countered, knowing that to show weakness to Fintan meant death. 

Fintan laughed, a snake of flame curling around his shoulders as he did so. “They all won’t be once you die.”

She stared at the fire, trying to keep her breathing level. “I’m by no means the most valuable member of the Council.”

“True, true, but you are the most loved.”

“I doubt that.”

Fintan took a step forward.

Oralie took a step backward.

And before either of them could make another move than that, Bronte was standing between them with a dagger leveled towards Fintan. “Get away from Oralie. Now.”

“What a way to talk to your brother.”

“Get. Away. From. Her.”

“Fine, fine.” Fintan rolled his eyes as he took a step back. “You’re such a protective asshole, you know.”

Bronte visibly flinched, but the dagger they had pointed at Fintan’s heart didn’t waver. “I protect the people I care about.”

It was Fintan’s turn to flinch. “Now that was just harsh.”

“Stop trying to kill my best friend and I won’t have to fight you.”

“No can do, I’m afraid. Leader of a rebel organization and all.”

“Then it comes down to us.”

Oralie could only watch helplessly as Bronte lunged forward, striking like a snake, only to be countered by a dagger of Fintan’s own. The fight ranged across the field, going right and left, back and forth, Bronte and Fintan trading blows as Oralie stood helplessly with high heels in hand, not daring to interfere in case she hit Bronte. Both of them hadn’t fought like this in years, she could tell, and they were as even a match as anything. What Bronte lacked by being slightly smaller, they made up for with precision, and what Fintan lacked in precision he made up for with strength. Watching them duel, Oralie realized that the fight should have been over a while ago. If either of the siblings dared use their ability, it would be easy enough to catch the other by surprise and incapacitate them. But both of them were holding back, only striking at each other with weapons. Determined to win- but unable to bring themselves to truly harm the other. 

Thump, thump.

Oralie snapped out of her thoughts in time to see Gethen heading towards her, sword in hand, and thought quickly enough to dodge, leaping out of the way of his blow. He didn’t get her last time, he wasn’t going to get her this time either. 

This time, Bronte was there, turning from their fight with Fintan to block another blow from Gethen. Their small dagger wasn’t a proper match for Gethen’s lumenite sword, but it was a blade and it did its job of blocking Gethen’s attack. 

Oralie could feel determination radiating off Bronte, rough and strong like wood that hadn’t been sanded, watched Gethen’s smirk grow as Fintan’s eyes widened and his dagger, which would have been blocked by Bronte’s had they not turned, slashed across Bronte’s torso.

Oralie might have screamed. She couldn’t tell who was screaming, and for all she knew it could have been Fintan. His horror was strong enough to reach her, guilt prickling across her skin as Bronte collapsed.

“Bronte!” That was her voice this time, Oralie thought distantly, her scream ringing across the battlefield as she reached desperately for her best friend. 

“Ora- Oralie.” They reached back, weakly, painfully. 

Their dagger was laying on the ground next to her. Their blood was already coating her hands. 

“Why?” Oralie pleaded. “Why would you di- get hurt for me?”

“Because I love you. Idiot.” 

Oralie could feel Bronte’s pain surge through her, a phantom slash all the way down her chest as sticky sorrow poured across her hands, but their sentiment was genuine, the warmth of friendship radiating through. “I think- I think you’re the idiot.” She might have been crying, the sticky warmth of tears indistinguishable from the sticky warmth of love mingled with sadness. “You saved me, you saved the one who’s always been so weak.”

“Fucking nonsense. You’re- ah!” They gasped, and Oralie flinched as the pain doubled in intensity. “You’re stronger than anyone I know,” Bronte finished weakly. Their bangs fell across their face, strands of brown tinted red with blood as the rest fanned around their head like a halo but plainer. 

“Bronte,” Fintan whispered from somewhere nearby.

Oralie would have killed him, if she could, but Bronte just stretched out a trembling hand. “Brother.”

“Bronte,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to!” 

Bronte’s emotions shifted, damp regret scratching against Oralie’s heart like wet wool. “I was the one who failed you from the start. I’m sorry.”

“Big brother,” Fintan whispered, and Oralie’s hands were sticky with his sorrow and Bronte’s blood.

“I forgive you. I forgive you.”

And Fintan was sobbing now, that she could be sure of, the enormity of his guilt crushing her and making it hard to breathe. Was she breathing? She couldn’t be sure.

“Oralie.” Buried under waves of pain, soft prickles of concern reached Oralie, and she drew a shuddering breath as Bronte tapped her hand lightly. “Oralie.”

“Y- yes?” Her voice failed her, wobbling under the weight of Fintan’s guilt that might have been her guilt that might have been Bronte’s worry. 

“Don’t let go, okay? Don’t give up, just because- just. Just don’t give up. Please. You deserve to be happy and you will be.”

“It gets better someday,” Oralie whispered, remembering what she had told them so many times.

“It gets better. Someday. Promise?”

“Promise what?”

“Promise you won’t give up.”

Oralie took a shaky breath. “I promise.”

In some corner of her mind, she was vaguely aware of the fact that one of Clarette’s creatures had thrown Gethen away from the three of them, that a familiar grief- Emery’s- was prickling the back of her neck, but all she could see was Bronte’s chest rising and falling too quickly as their breathing grow shallower.

“Good. Tell Sophie I’m proud of her. Tell the rest of the Council that I cared about them- except. Except tell Alina to get fucked.” They pressed a leaping crystal into her hand weakly. “Tell. Serenel. Ramil. My parents. I loved them. And never- never forget that I love you. So much.”

“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t!”

“It has to be.” Bronte smiled painfully. “I’m sorry.”

And suddenly Oralie was drowning in the absence of their emotions, all the sticky sorrow vanishing from her hands and leaving only blood. “Bronte. Bronte! Please, don’t go!” She knew it was futile already, knew there was only one thing the lack of emotions could mean, but she begged anyways, holding them close like she hadn’t been able to do for Kenric. Kenric. Words and oaths and memories spiraled through her mind, leaving one final grief, which she screamed to the world. “You promised me, Bronte! You _promised_! You said you’d never leave, not like- not like Kenric!”

 _I’m sorry._ The memory of those words echoed through her mind, the pain behind them tearing through any remaining numbness. _I’m sorry._

It took her a moment to realize that someone was saying them out loud too, a different voice and a different sorrow clinging to her heart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Oralie.” Emery’s golden voice was rough, the sentiment in it more real than anything he had said as Spokesperson. 

His sorrow drowned her as he pulled her into a gentle embrace, and Oralie let it. It was easy to let the pain of others wrap her up tightly just like their arms, far, far easier than facing the rage and grief and guilt pooling in her chest. For once, Oralie embraced the numbness.

* * *

There was blood on Emery’s shoulder. 

That was the first thing she noticed when she could notice anything but grief. The bloody spot was small, but seeping outward slowly, and just as sticky as his pain. Focusing in on his emotions, Oralie narrowed down a phantom ache in her shoulder, right over where the blood on his was.

“Emery’s hurt.” Her voice didn’t sound like hers, rough and distant. “Left shoulder.”

“Shit, nice catch, Oralie!” That was Livvy’s voice, her usual cheer strained and cracking. “Handy uh, having an empath around, I guess.”

Oralie stared at golden embroidery of Emery’s tunic, watching it slowly become stained with blood. “Yeah.” She didn’t know when Livvy had gotten here, didn’t bother to wonder.

Livvy’s worry was prickly. “I’ll fix that up, if you don’t mind moving back, Councillor Oralie?”

“Okay.” Oralie stepped back and wondered how her voice could sound so dead while her chest was rising and falling still. She was vaguely aware that Livvy was fussing, vaguely aware that Emery was sighing, but it all seemed very far away even though they were right next to her. 

The next thing she was aware of was someone putting their hand in hers softly, a pearl ring shimmering on the middle finger. 

“I heard what happened,” Liora said quietly. 

Oralie said nothing.

“I don’t know you well, and I didn’t know Bronte well. But I hope you know we’ll all stand by you.” Liora’s concern was less prickly than Bronte’s had been, more like flannel than felt, but just as real.

Oralie didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that Liora cared enough to worry about her, had no way of discerning even what she felt about it. “Thank you. They- Bronte- told me to tell you- you and the others, that is- that they cared. Even though it didn’t seem like it.”

“Even though it didn’t seem like it,” the other Councillor repeated softly. “Sounds like Bronte.”

“It does.” Oralie’s words felt fragile in her mouth.

Liora squeezed her hand. “Don’t hesitate to knock on my door if you need. I don’t talk to people much, but I do care.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Oralie let the other Councillors shunt her around for the remainder of the day, let Emery take charge as always. Liora stuck by her most of the time, a quiet, stable presence that Oralie was grateful for, or would have been if she could feel anything but numb. Livvy tried futilely to cheer her up once or twice once the doctors had finished fixing everyone up, but it did no good. Oralie could barely process the jokes, let alone find them funny.

Finally, they were leaping home, but it seemed that Oralie’s trials weren’t over for the day. Waiting for them were the members of Team Valiant, worry apparent in their stances.

Sophie scanned the line of Councillors, not meeting Oralie’s eyes as usual. “Where’s Bronte?”

No one answered her.

Sophie’s gaze was as prickly as her fear when it landed on Oralie. “Where’s Bronte?”

Oralie couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it.

“Did they get held up? Did something happen? Are they hurt? Please, what happened?” 

The anguish in Sophie’s voice broke Oralie’s heart, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

Emery did so instead, steady voice tinged with sorrow. “Bronte was killed in the fight against the Neverseen.”

“They were defending me,” Oralie whispered. “It was my fault.”

“No!” Sophie’s emotions were too many textures at once, all tempered with sharp disbelief. “Bronte can’t just be dead! They were like, a million years old! That’s not fair!”

“Our world very rarely is,” Emery murmured. 

“Well fuck that all!” Sophie burned with anger, voice sticky with sadness as she turned to Oralie. “And you just- and they were saving you?”

“There was nothing Oralie or anyone else could have done,” Emery put in quickly. “I don’t know the full details, but it was a dreadful fight.”

“I want to hear it from her.”

Oralie didn’t meet Sophie’s gaze.

“Councillor.”

The world was too bright, the green of the grass too vivid for such a sad day, Oralie noted distantly.

“Oralie,” Sophie snapped, and the genuine hatred behind it was almost enough to make Oralie crumble on its own. “What the fuck happened?”

“Don’t talk to your elders like that,” Emery scolded.

“I don’t care! Bronte is dead and Oralie won’t talk and- and maybe it should have been her!”

Oralie could feel the horror and regret the second Sophie’s words left her mouth, the uncomfortable dampness of those emotions brushing her skin in the silence those words left, but regret didn’t change what had been said. Or the fact that it _should_ have been Oralie. “She’s right.”

“No!” That was Terik, from the other end of the line of Councillors. “No, Oralie, no. It shouldn’t have been any of us. Let alone you.”

“If it came down to Bronte or me, it always should have been me who died,” Oralie whispered. “They deserved better. They always did.”

“No,” Sophie said quietly. “No. I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry! I didn’t think- it wasn’t right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Oralie.”

Her name sounded safe in her daughter’s mouth for the first time since Sophie had learned the truth.

Oralie drew a shuddering breath. “Bronte told me to tell you they were proud of you. Before they died. They wanted me to pass on the message.”

“They- they were?”

“They were. They were so proud.”

And Oralie was crying, and Sophie was crying, and even unflappable, unshakable Emery was crying a little bit because it didn’t matter who ‘should’ have died, Bronte was dead and it was left to the rest of them to pick up all the broken pieces and try to make them beautiful again. 

“I’m sorry,” Sophie whispered into Oralie’s shoulder, sadness more sticky than her tears on the already-ruined gown. “I’m sorry.”

_Emery offering “I’m sorry” as a condolence._

_Bronte’s last words of “I’m sorry”._

_Fintan desperately apologizing for hurting them, a pained “I’m sorry”._

“I’m sorry,” Oralie whispered back, feeling the weight of the others’ words behind her own. “For everything.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry- I’m sorry for what I said.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

And they held each other and knelt on the too-green grass of Eternalia and cried until even Oralie had no more tears left. Only then did they get up, wipe their faces, and decide to go on, one way or another. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more angst maybe consider looking at my other fics or my tumblr, which is bronte-deserves-better because i'm a predictable bitch. Also, this fic may have chapters added at some later date but I decided to let it be marked as complete for now because I don't know when/if i'll get around to writing them.


End file.
